


I have been I, if for ever so short a time.

by trykynyx



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:10:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2957990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trykynyx/pseuds/trykynyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fíli was dead before he hit the ground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I have been I, if for ever so short a time.

**Author's Note:**

> "To me the honour is sufficient of belonging to the universe — such a great universe, and so grand a scheme of things. Not even Death can rob me of that honour. For nothing can alter the fact that I have lived; I have been I, if for ever so short a time." - W. N. P. Barbellion

Fíli was dead before he hit the ground.

 

The moment that it took for the Orc blade to pierce armor, flesh and bone was too brief to reminisce. 

If it had been longer, he would have thought of so many things.

 

He would have thought of his mother's low, sweet voice singing to him in the dark. He would have thought of the smell of her forges, the softness of her beard.

 

He would have thought of the day she laid Kíli in his arms for the first time, how scared he had been to hold that small, pink thing. 

"He is as much yours as mine, now" Dís had rumbled, serious and proud. "He will be your little shadow, and you must take care never to lose him, Fíli."

All their years together would have been a blur, with his ever-watchful eye on his dark-haired brother and a constant warmth at his side. Had there been time at the end, he may have thought of Kíli as he often had: half of himself made flesh, the better part of his ribs taken and molded when Fíli himself was just a dwarfling.

 

Oh, he would have thought of his kinsman and king, of Thorin. He would have thought of his childhood, of being lifted onto his uncle's broad shoulders, of being allowed to touch that great shield of oak with small fingers while the noble dwarf told him stories of their stolen homeland.

He would have thought about Thorin's face when his sister-son and heir pledged himself to the company, to the retaking of Erebor. He would have thought of that passing light that could be found in the eyes of the King Under the Mountain, when some joy had managed to seep between the cracks of his armor, beneath the weight his burden.

 

He would have remembered the comforting weight of the Blue Mountains above his head, his father teaching him how to braid his hair. He would have remembered the pride of his first chin-hair, his blades hitting their mark, Dwalin's first grunt of approval. He would have remembered the joyous clang of the forge, the comforting breath of the bellows. He would have thought of flames in the dark, the stillness of deep lakes, the sight of Erebor through the clouds.

 

But there was no time; it had all slipped away.

 

Azog holds him high above the ground, and dwarves were not meant to be so far from the earth. He hears the foul worlds spat from the Defiler's lips, sees his uncle's face.

He screams, rages against the end of the Kingdom Under the Mountain, against the breaking of the line of Durin, against dying. He cries out, hanging in the air like a rag doll, and knows it is futile.

 

Fíli, son of Dís, daughter of Thrain, son of Thrór, Crown Prince of Erebor, dies alone under the sky. On his lips was his love for his people, for his kin. In his eyes was despair.

 


End file.
